


I'm Breathing Fine

by ChasingPerfectionTomorrow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dancing, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 05:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1846861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasingPerfectionTomorrow/pseuds/ChasingPerfectionTomorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa's sure that Robb put him up to it. Poor Sansa Stark, no date for her Senior Prom, how pathetic. But when a startlingly different Jon Snow arrives to sweep her off her feet, and onto the dance floor, she can't quite resist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Breathing Fine

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick drabbly one-shot. Hope everyone enjoys.

The music started, hauntingly beautiful, and Sansa’s heart fell. Around her were vaguely cheap fake and paper flowers, arranged with glittering lights and silver and gold streamers hung from the gym rafters. A disco ball spun slowly from the scoreboard and balloons milled about the room like lonely forgotten pets. The dance floor was a vibrant array of glittering gowns and smiling faces, none of them directed toward her. She alone remained on the outskirts and the melodic voice of the violin pierced through her, mocking her pain. In a brilliant spotlight, Joffery danced with Marg, together they shone like the glittering jewels on their plastic crowns. The old Sansa would have cried, maybe have ran from the room. This new Sansa, born of tragedy and heart break, stood her ground and forced herself to watch, the pain of betrayal burning through her like a healing fire.

She almost didn’t see him as he crossed the room. And she most certainly didn’t recognize him. At least not at first. Sansa didn’t think she had ever seen him out of jeans and plain tee-shirts in his entire life, his face always partially hidden behind thick rimmed glasses and too-long hair. Tonight he wore a fine tuxedo, complete with bow tie, and his hair had been combed into rather charming curls that fell nearly to his chin. He approached her with a hesitant smile, his cheeks flushed. His eyes were dark but shining and Sansa was at a loss for words.

“Jon?” She breathed in disbelief.

His answering smile was like sunlight through thick snow clouds and Sansa was nearly blown away by how utterly handsome it made him. Where had this Jon Snow come from? He suddenly seemed to exude confidence and his extended hand didn’t quiver or hesitate, his intentions made quite clear.

“I thought you might like to dance,” he said, his tone light, his deep voice carrying over the music in way that caused her toes to curl inside her shoes. Never mind that he was nineteen and went to college two hours away and by all rights shouldn’t even be there, Robb was likely responsible, but she was too flustered to be properly angry.

“Wow,” he said, his face open and honest, “You look beautiful Sansa.” She blushed despite herself and her belly warmed alarmingly. For God’s sake, this was Jon, she silently chastised herself. They’d practically grown up together, he’d seen her awkward middle school years, her hissy fits and every bad hair cut she’d ever had. Heating further under his dark, meaningful stare, she ran self-conscious hands over the front of her dress. She’d eventually decided on pale lavender gown that flowed smoothly over her thin frame, cut low in the back and far simpler than many of those around her.Her hair was loose but curled around her shoulders, her makeup and jewelry minimal.

“What are you doing here Jon,” she whispered, eyes darting around as though answers might present themselves from the shadowed corners of the paper flower decorated room. A few people where looking at them as Jon’s hand remained resolutely between them and she snatched it up in hers. She was unprepared for his fingers to wrap so firmly and electrically around hers.

“I thought that was obvious,” he teased, “I’m here to dance with you.” He gently tugged her toward the dance floor, but Sansa dug her heels in, still fighting to understand. A new song had started, another slow one, and this one happened to be one of her favorites. It lacked the vocals, instead transformed into perfection through another gripping violin. Her will weakened with every note.

“Did Robb put you up to this? Are you here because you feel sorry for me Jon Snow, because I’ll have you kno-“ Jon gave a teasing roll of his eyes and tugged her purposefully forward. Taken completely off guard she all but fell into his arms.

“Just one dance Sansa. Then you can yell at me.” He smelled amazing, like mint and aftershave and she gave up the fight. Screw it, she told herself, this was her prom, and she would dance with her brother’s best –rather hotter than she remembered- friend if she wanted to. Paid or not.

Jon’s hand fit snugly into the grove of her waist, and his palm was hot through the billowing chiffon of her dress. He drew her forward and her hand seemed to find his shoulder of its own accord. It was broad and firm beneath her fingers and she could feel the ripple of muscle and taunt skin even through the layers. Sansa felt dizzy with lack of control, his thrice damned half-smile, and the warmth radiating off him in alarming waves. Who was this strange, handsome new creature? She wondered as he led her easily into the dancing fray. The Jon she knew would have been mortified to dance in public. She didn’t even think he’d shown up to his own prom. Was he drunk? On drugs? Maybe Robb had paid him a massive sum of money or something. But the way he was looking at her could almost convince her _she_ was the reason he was here tonight, spinning her around a silly dance floor in a tiny high school in the middle of nowhere. That he had come here tonight because he truly _wanted_ to dance with her. The old Sansa had believed in fairy tales, in knights in shining armor who rescued modern day damsels in distress, but faced with what could possibly be the reality of that dream, she found herself fighting the notion tooth and nail.

Her heart was a wild bird in her chest as they spun through the crowd. Under normal circumstances, Sansa might have surveyed the other couples, or at the very least gauged her path through the awkwardly milling crowd of teenagers, but another startling conclusion kept her entranced. Jon could _dance_. If she didn’t know any better she would be willing to bet they were actually _waltzing_.

“Where did you learn to dance like this,” she demanded, nerves causing her to sound perhaps a little harsher than she intended.

Jon looked sheepish and his hand gripped hers more firmly and she felt the succulent press of his callused skin against hers in a wave of heat that pooled deep in her belly. She was having a hard time breathing.

“My mother taught me before she died. She loved to dance.” His tone was unaffected but the words made her sad. She’d never paid Jon much attention; her brother had had far more interesting and flirty friends to engage with. One’s that were full of smiles and pretty words. But that was before. Now she seriously wondered how she’d ever managed to so completely overlook him.

“You’re very good,” her tone was accusing. He chuckled softly and the sound was familiar, linking this new Jon with the old one in a comforting mesh.

“You’re doing great Sansa, just let me lead and you’ll be fine,” he said, understanding her unease with surprising clarity. She gave him a smile, one that wasn’t forced or faked, and it felt alien on her face. How long had it been since she really smiled? His eyes bore into hers and all her questions and insecurities abandoned her. There was only his hand in hers, the gentle flutter of his sweet breath on her face, and the all encompassing music. The world seemed to narrow and grow clearer for one bright second; it was exactly like every cheesy chick flick she and her girlfriends had ever giggled over. The types of movies she’d since dismissed as nonsense, but here, in Jon Snow’s arms, the rest of the room really did seem to disappear.

When the music stopped after what might have been seconds or years for all she knew, Jon swept her out in a graceful arch and brought her back in a slight dip. Their eyes locked as, much to her alarm, a few honest cheers and collective applause broke out around them. Jon’s gaze kept her from lurching away in shock and embarrassment as his head lowered toward hers. Without consciously meaning to, she shut her eyes and met him half way. Kissing had never felt like this before, not with Joff, not with Petyr; this felt like coming home, like being warm in her bed with hot chocolate, like seeing him beside her brother every Christmas with his hair mused and always beyond touched that her family would deign to include him in their holidays. The touch was brief but heated, not the sort of kiss between two people who were merely like brother and sister. When he lifted his head, his smile was shy, the smile she remembered, and she answered it in kind. The kiss left her with the promise of more as he gently lifted her. People were whispering around them, eyes judging and wondering, but Jon led her away as the music changed to something more lively.

In the shadows he looked at her, they were nearly of height with her in heels, and said, “I’ve wanted to do that for years.”

“Ki-kiss me?” She stuttered, not at all her articulate self.

“Yes,” he said simply, his earlier confidence suddenly seeming to cave into the more familiar insecurity.

 _I can be brave_ , Sansa told herself. Jon had always been brave. He'd been brave when his mother had died and then when her own father had passed away. She could be brave like him, and she realized for perhaps the first time, that she'd always envied his bravery. His quiet strength. She took a deep breath and she stepped closer to him, lifting a hand to his face, the dark stubble a deliciously pleasant scrape against her skin. “Well, in that case,” she said,” Maybe you should do it again.” His smile was soft as he lowered his head and Sansa found that Jon Snow was full of surprising skills. Dancing the least of them.

**FIN**

**Author's Note:**

> The title is derived from Jon Legend's "All of Me."


End file.
